


Accidents Happen

by ewbrows



Category: Hero - Perry Moore
Genre: M/M, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10082471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewbrows/pseuds/ewbrows
Summary: After ten years, the dust has finally settled. But how long until the next disaster?





	1. Between Light and Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so, I'm gonna be super real and just say that almost no one read Hero or knows what it is. And the author died before he could write another book or get Hero on another type of media, I'm feeling really shitty because I finally found a novel that has a gay main character and the whole plot isn't actually about him being gay, and the author's already dead. Anyways, this is really just a self-indulgent fic that I'm gonna be writing off and on. It's self-insert because fuck making OC's and honestly I just wanna experience the world of Hero again and reimagine the characters ten years older, and my personal interactions with them. So, like, here's this shit, keep a barf bag around for good measure.

Practicing my powers on the roof is always a risky thing. I haven’t quite gotten the hang of size yet, so, potentially, I could accidentally create a huge bubble that would catapult me off the roof at some insane speed.

I guess I should explain my power. I’m able to create bubbles, which seems pretty lame, but it actually has surprisingly useful applications. The bubbles seem to be completely invulnerable, but I haven’t tested it (and I don’t really want to). I can make them any size I want, but again, mostly untested. I seem to be able to alter the outer texture and other properties, but the inside remains the same. Objects are unaffected by gravity while in the bubble, and suspended in the center. I can stretch and bend it, make it bouncy and even make it solid. The bubbles also float to wherever I want them to, unless there’s lots of wind. It’s not the greatest power, but I seem to make it work.

I’d be forced to have a super shitty superhero name, though, like “Captain Bubbles” or “Squeaky Clean.” My friend Amber and I have discussed this so much that my name in her phone is saved as her favorite one, “Doctor Suds.” 

I manage to get the debris from the roof into three separate bubbles, and I move my hands in a slow, wax-on, wax-off motion. The bubbles move in a juggling type motion, switching places at a snail’s pace. They pick up speed when I tell them to. Eventually they get fast enough to where I can’t focus on them individually, and they pop, forcing the debris to fly everywhere.

I quickly flinch and throw my hands up to protect my face, but not a single fleck of dust has hit me. I look up. Amazingly, I managed to catch most of the debris in individual bubbles. I had created over 20 bubbles, way more than I had ever made, or even tried to make, before. I let them burst. My ability seemed to evolve in new ways nearly every day now.

I plop down on the edge of the roof, thinking about how much time I’ve wasted by just screwing around with bubbles for an hour. The sun is already sinking, inhaling the last bits of warmth from the air along with it. It was going to get too cold to do anything soon. The owner doesn’t really like it all that much when I go up here, but since I saved her ass from identity theft I pretty much get to free roam.

I pull out my phone, seeing a few texts. I don’t get texts, so this is quite the exciting business. It looks like they’re all from my friend Amber.

A: hey nick!!!  
A: i was just wondering, what’s your new address? i was going to send you something

N: oh  
N: uh  
N: i dont really know the po box by heart  
N: ill ask when i get off the roof lmao

A: nick why are you on the roof

N: why are you up when it’s 4 am in your time zone

A: touche  
A: but seriously why

N: ...i was fucking around with bubbles again

A: lmao nick  
A: you cannot weaponize bubbles

N: i can sure as hell tRY

A: probably not the best use of ur time but w/e

N: shhhh  
N: how do you get your powers to like…

A: like ?

N: ...do the thing

A: i just do it

N: i know but how do you make them do the thing you want them to do

A: idk usually i try to keep a tempo  
A: they dont like to be forced all the time  
A: you have to kinda keep them in line with little nudges and pushes

N: oh like an instrument

A: the only instrument ive ever played was a shitty electronic keyboard in 3rd year  
A: but sure like an instrument

N: >:[  
N: ur not helping

A: lolololol ok  
A: why do you care so much about control????  
A: its not like ur gonna flood the city in bubbles

N: WATCH MEEEEEE

A: ...omfg nick u didnt actually try did you???

N: ..........  
N: go to bed amber!!!!!!

A: LOOOOOL

I stretch out my arms as I descend to my apartment. I just worked out before I went up to the roof. My triceps and shoulders are beefed out from it, but it’s just the blood pumping to them that makes them look big. They always go back down the next day. I have been making progress in my workouts, though! I don’t get grossed out when I look in the mirror anymore, and while I’m probably still widely regarded as skinny, I think I’m filling out pretty proportionally. Which is a stark contrast to how I used to look, because my head looked too big and my arms were too long for years.

I grab my laptop on the way to my cheapy ikea desk. I open up my study materials and try to make sense of it. I don’t, because Calculus is a shit class and I should not have taken it. I open up a virtual machine and work on some random scraps of code. I end up making the virtual machine set the time function past its limit and become completely useless. I have mixed feelings about this, because it would work exceptionally well as a virus, as it would screw up the commands for the user controlled parts of the computer and potentially still allow a background program (controlled by the hacker) to access the data stored on the computer, all through a feature that is accessible by nearly every program running on a computer. But the issue is that I wasn’t even trying to write a virus.

I shut the laptop and remember that Amber wanted me to send her my PO box, so I check my mail and send her the address.

My phone dings. It’s an email from an obviously desperate developer going to find sketchy freelance programmers to debug their game. They are offering me $20,000 if I can do it by myself and get it to them in a month. Honestly? That’s probably way too much to be paying one 17 year old programmer and way too little time to debug a whole game, but I email her back and take the job anyway because I want the extra cash and I want this developer to suggest me to their colleagues for other programming jobs.

I check the time. It’s 11 now, I really didn’t realize how long it took me to write that stupid virus. I peel off my shirt, but as I head off to bed, I catch a glimpse of what looks to be a man sitting along a building’s roof. It’s the neighboring parking garage, level with the apartment building. He looks kinda like he’s going to….Oh no.

I dash back up to the roof, half-naked and heart racing. Jumping the stairs three at a time, I burst out onto the roof and spin wildly, trying to see where he was.

I spot him, just below eye level, about to drop into an alley. I rush to the edge of the roof and shout at him. The man, really just a boy, looks up at me, his head snapping up, his eyes filled with the fear of what’s to come. I was close enough to see that his eyes were bloodshot, red bleeding into a rich brown. He stares for only a second, and then slides off into the abyss.

My hands seize and a huge bubble appears below him. He sinks into it, and it expands like a squished water balloon under his weight. He flails and claws at it, and it bursts, causing him to fall another one and a half stories, landing with a sickening crack. I panic for a second, because what if he died? I could’ve saved him if I had remembered to control the bubble…

My train of thought is cut short by a loud, deep groan. I exhale in relief, realising that I had been holding my breath. I step back from the roof, panting for breath. I calm myself down, because the immediate danger is over, and now he needs help. My medical expertise ends at volunteer janitor work in a hospital. I couldn’t do anything but sanitize his wounds. Wait nevermind. Volunteers aren’t allowed to touch patients.

I end up deciding to call him an ambulance, because then he actually gets (real) medical attention and I don’t have to explain how I saved his life and why I am currently shirtless. I make the call anonymously and get back into my apartment. Doesn’t really seem like I’ll be sleeping tonight, so I flip open my laptop and get to downloading that buggy game to add to the pile of shit to do.

_She’s texting me. “Don’t do this, I can’t do it without you…” She’s strong though? It doesn’t matter if she’s strong, she’ll forget in a while. She’s never even met you, how could she possibly see you as a friend? Just slip off the roof. Make sure to land on your head. She’s strong enough. But being strong implies that she will remember you? “NICK” oh. No she won’t be strong then. Don’t insult her! It won’t matter what you think of her you piece of shit. She might as well ask you to do a flip. “nick you can’t just do this, I love you and I’ll be a wreck without you.” Wow. She’s making this hard, huh. What if I didn’t, though? I don’t really want to go back inside. Then I’ll have to cry. I don’t wanna cry. I don’t have to cry though? What if I just go on with sleeping and pretend nothing happened? Or I could just, y’know, tip forward and-”NICK ANSWER ME” I’m standing now. I’ve got my phone in my hand, and I’m texting her back, a simple “what” would probably suffice. I act like I’m still going to jump, but my whole being is making me turn around and climb back in my window. The phone starts to ring. Loud, too loud…_

I jerk awake, my desk wet with drool. I wipe my mouth and realize that it’s not from my mouth, but my eyes. Woooow what an emo bitch. Crying in my sleep? It’s amazing that my nonexistent red 2005 eyeliner didn’t smear. 

I hit stop on my alarm, and the time reads 6:20 am. I experience a series of reluctant emotions that I can only describe as the Four Stages of A School Day Morning. Similar to the five stages of grief, except Acceptance and Depression happen in the same stage. So, I just get up and get ready for a day of high school.

In fifth period, I’m a TA for Mr. Marković, who teaches the English learning kids. Most of his TA’s have some non-English language skills, but I’ve only got minimal Portuguese. The reason I’m his TA, though, is because he is hopeless with computers. Normally, I wouldn’t agree, because I don’t really have the kind of patience to teach someone who doesn’t know a thing about computers, but I agreed because I didn’t have anything else to fill up that slot, and Marković is really nice to look at. 

I have to log all of his attendance records and get everything set up so that he can keep teaching. I’m also the one to put up videos whenever he’s teaching with examples. It’s Friday, so he’s showing them a movie in English. They have to give a summary of the plot by the end of the period. It’s kinda sadistic to let a student watch a film, but also make them write about it the whole time, but I guess there’s no other way to make sure they pay attention.

He looks at me worriedly. I cock an eyebrow back, silently asking what he’s worried about and simultaneously hoping he’s not worried about me. He walks over to my TA desk and puts his hands on it where he can look at me. Uh oh.

I refuse to meet his eyes, but instead look at his mouth. I don’t remember the last time I actually looked someone in the eye. Usually looking them in the eyes makes them uncomfortable, because my eyes are such a harsh blue that I think some people think that they look like a challenge. This was my excuse, but really, his eyes were too intense for me, not the other way around. They bore into you. If eyes are the window to the soul, he pried out the hinges and replaced the windows with laser-beams.

“Are you ok?” He asks me, with his signature Croatian accent.

“Yeah. I’m fine, why?” I reply.

“You look ready to swoon from exhaustion.” He pronounces “exhaustion” like “ex-hos-tyion.”

“No, really, I’m totally ok.” I think I am, at least.

“You can nap today, if you’d like. I don’t think you should work yourself so hard.” He frowns at me, so I’m required to nod in agreement and put my head down to rest.

_They don’t tell me to move out, or run away. My important documents all just show up in a folder on my desk, passport, social security, birth certificate, etc. The folder is sitting on top of two letters, one as a notice of rejection from the S.U.P.E.R. program in my school, smudged with water and torn a bit, and another as a notice of enrollment to be effective next semester in some school in LA. I put them all in the crisp duffel bag they so conveniently left in my room, my hands shaking the whole time. I pack everything that I can fit. I walk slowly into the parlor of the house. My father sat perched on his armchair, like he wasn’t waiting for me. I stop, because I think he might speak to me, but he looks at me with the same passive emotion I see him look at strangers with. I want to say “sorry”, “thank you”, and “I hate you” all at once. Instead, I say “Can I take the SUV?” The oldest car. He barely nods. I step out of the house with the commitment I would’ve used to step off the roof just three days earlier, and drive off. I punch on the radio, but instead of the loud pop music I expect, it’s a soft voice, saying, “Hey. Nicholas.”_

“Hey, Nick, wake up. Class is over.” Marković jostles my shoulder lightly and I jerk awake with tears in my eyes, again, because I’m a fucking tool.

“Nick? Are you okay?” He said, quietly and softly, so I wouldn’t freak out again.

Normally, Marković’s beautiful voice would calm me right down, but I was holding my breath and trying to keep a poker face. The students had cleared out, but I must’ve bubbled the desks while I was waking up, and now they were drifting upward like they were in zero gravity. I looked at Marković’s jawline and made up a little tempo in my mind. Hopefully Amber wasn’t fucking with me when she said that this would help. The desks nudge their way back down to the floor and the bubbles burst, making a cacophonous snapping noise.

Marković whips around and stares at the desks, bewildered. They are all in near-perfect order, except for one by the exit. I flash him an apologetic smile and blurt some excuse about the pipes making noise. He just looks at me from head to toe, like I just appeared and he can’t remember how I got there. I get up and stride past him, pushing the desk back into place as I walk out the door.


	2. A Frictionless Existence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about last chapter being nearly illegible. If you're actually reading this then congrats! I actually proofread this one so it's not as bad. I'd still keep a barf bag around for the shit that I don't know how to fix. Suggestions would be great! Criticism would also be great. It'd also be great if no one ever read this ever but it got like 8 hits so fuck me I guess. Have fun reading it because I had fun writing it!

I look out of the window back at my apartment, and I see the League flying over. Their position is similar to a duck’s “V” formation, and I can see Uberman’s yellow cape glinting at the front. I’d want to try out for the League, but what with the whole SUPER thing I don’t think that they’d let me join the biggest, most international superhero organization of all time. But if they didn’t do background checks...

I’m back at the laptop, tapping away at the official League website. It’s government funded, so naturally the website is government run. You don’t see Uberman keeping a website up to date on his spare time.

It has painfully minimal info on Gofundme’s for random facility things that the League can’t spend government money on. They’re all maxed out, but they haven’t updated the website in so long that I don’t even know if they were collected.

It’s a lost cause. I don’t even think people really get recruited, they just start saving people and say that they’re with the League. Whatever. I get my work uniform on and head to the hospital for my volunteer hours.

I’m working in the Emergency Room today, it looks like. The nurses here are really messy, and my job is usually just to clean up after them. It’s enough to warrant a few full-time janitors to completely get rid of all the garbage left behind, change all the linens, and keep the rooms clean, but all they’ve got is me. Most of this stuff I’m not really qualified (as a student volunteer) to touch, but I do a good enough job, so no one ever tattles on me.

It’s probably about time to take out the rooms’ trash bags. I’m always careful around the trash bags, because patients will sometimes throw needles in them. Actually nurses will throw needles in them, too. It’s always too much of a hassle to throw them in the hazard bin down the hall. I go into room 3 to grab the trash, when a guy my age starts complaining profusely about water. His leg is propped up in a giant splint and elevated to decrease blood flow. He attempts to get my attention by way of indignant nagging until I turn to him and say, “Your water will be here in a minute, sir.” Then he shuts up completely. Out in the hall, I get ahold of a gray-haired, exhausted nurse who is passing by.

“Can the patient in here,” I gesture back to room 3, “have water yet?”

She looks at him wearily, then her head lolls back in my direction and says, “Yes. But I’m not getting it.” and walks off without waiting for my reply. I scowl at her backside and head towards the supply closet. If she really doesn’t care then I’ll just do it. Who’s gonna blame me for shutting up a loud ass fracture patient? I swipe a water bottle from the patient fridge and bring it back to room 3.

I step into the room, finding the boy’s brown eyes staring me down. I look down at my uniform, just in case he’s freaking out because there’s blood on it, but it’s spotless. He must be high. I hand him the water, he wraps his fingers around it, but he doesn’t even open it. Dick. I turn to leave.

“You’re the angel.” he calls.

“You’re on pain meds.” I reply as I leave the room, smirking to myself.

He was looking me right in the eyes, but he obviously wasn’t looking at my face, or he’d see the horrible faceful of acne. Or it was all just so blurry from too much Vicodin. Does Vicodin even affect your vision? Whatever. He’s dumb and angels don’t have acne.

I had been folding gowns for nearly an hour when I heard the nurses talking about the boy in room three asking for “The angel”. They had been trying to find out who he was talking about for a while, apparently, but they all thought it must be the other volunteer, Karen, who might as well be an angel. She’s got C cups even though she’s got a tiny waist and an hourglass figure. She also has no problem showing them off with what looks to be a lace push-up bra? That’s a bit extra, especially for a work setting, but if she likes it then I’m not gonna say anything.

I get over to room 3 to tell him to knock it off, but Karen’s beat me to it, and she’s obviously trying to get at him. She’s saying that “his angel’s here”, in a sweet, movie drama voice. Her performance is Oscar worthy, but he’s staring at his broken leg like it’ll heal instantly and let him run the hell away. How ungrateful of him.

I can’t watch her embarrassing theater act anymore. I walk in and his face brightens up and he lets out a tiny, “He’s here!”

“I gave him water and he just won’t let me go!” I say with faux enthusiasm.

I mouth a “Sorry” to Karen as she sticks her tongue out at me and stomps out of the room with excess drama. She’s actually taking the rejection fairly well. Probably because she knows she can get any guy within a three-mile radius with a flick of her wrist. Except me, and maybe this guy? No, he can’t be gay, he’s on pain meds. Everyone gets a bit gay on pain meds.

He’s got this content, blissful look on his face. Like my presence alone is going to cure his every ill. But then he suddenly gets nervous, like he’s forgotten something important he needed to tell me right this minute.

“I, uh, wanted to…” He stammers, his eyes darting from me to his cast. I look at his cast too, not because I think there’s anything to look at, but because it’ll make it easier for him to talk if he doesn’t have my eyes chilling him to the bone.

He clears his throat. “You saved my life.”

I scoff, “Hardly. The nurses were just busy is all. Were you even that thirsty?”

Even though I’m smirking and joking with him, he’s all of a sudden as red as a tomato. My smile fades. He starts stuttering at me again, tripping over his words so hard I’m afraid he might break his other leg. 

“O-oh no. Not that, I-I meant last night, when I-I….”

Last night? But that was when…

_Oh._

“Oh! Oh my god that was you?? I’m-oh my god. Wow, I should’ve-” I stammer out.

He feels bad now, and he’s stammering back, “Oh jeez I didn’t mean to- it’s really fine I just-”

We try to go on, but we both end up in an awkward, deafening silence. It’s a good thing he’s high as a kite, because his expression moves slowly from anxious to completely passive, and then he’s smirking again, the corners of his mouth turning up in the cutest little way.

“You look good shirtless.” he says, completely seriously, with a shit-eating grin on his face.

I crack up laughing. When I think I’m nearly done, I look back at him and I start laughing again. It’s the first time in a while someone’s really made me laugh that hard in a while. He’s making that same funny, serene face at me again, like he’s proud of himself for making me laugh. What a dummy.

“Look, I really have to go, but I’ll write my number on your cast for when you sober up, ok?” I say.

His eyes light up and he’s nodding profusely. I grab a sharpie from my pocket and put a name and number on the calf. When I walk out, I catch a glimpse of him grinning and feeling the cast where I touched it. I think about calling him a dork, but then I realize that I’m actually grinning like an idiot too.

I get home and immediately tell Amber what happened. She freaks out and tells me to bang him right then and there, as any normal friend would. I giggle at her, because it’s ridiculous that she’s thousands of miles away and excited that the one friend she hasn’t ever met in person met a guy he thinks is cute.

I was halfway through the bug reports on my newest programming undertaking when I got a text.

S: hey!!! I’m Sebastian :)  
S: is this Nick?

N: yeah!  
N: nice meeting you today lmao  
N: are you feeling any better?

S: oh yeah totally  
S: i got discharged

N: what???? You fell like 2 stories and broke your leg??  
N: how are you not in surgery or something

S: doesn’t matter rn  
S: come up to the roof!!

N: that is ominous as FUCK  
N: the roof??

S: yeah im waiting!!

I was speechless. He was already on the roof? My roof? With a broken leg??? I grab a sweatshirt, and then decide to grab a blanket too for good measure.

He’s sitting on the ledge facing the door to the roof. The winter breeze tossed the fabric of his hood like a flag. Both of his legs were in front of him in perfect condition. No sign of his deadly spill off of a giant bubble anywhere.

Before I can ask, he holds his hands up in a kind of surrender and stands up to his full height. And by full height, I mean _hoo boy_. I cannot believe how tall this boy is. Mainly because I only really saw him in a hospital bed and couldn’t get a full grasp on how tall he was. He towered over me by at least six inches.

He chuckles a bit at my ogling. I like the sound of his laugh. It’s kind of like someone’s stealthily plucking an acoustic guitar in his belly and he’s just letting me in on the secret.

“Hey. So, I know it looks weird that my leg is totally okay.” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. I nod, even though “weird” is an understatement. He laughs a bit, and continues, “I just need you to trust me for a minute ok?”

I raise my eyebrows. He’s asking me to trust the guy who tried to commit suicide, said I looked good shirtless in the hospital, and then appeared on my roof? 

I shake my head and say, “Are you out of your mind? What’re you playing at?”

“Hey, whoa, chill.” I hate it, but I actually do calm down a bit. “Just for a minute, ok?”

I’m about to say no, but I look into his eyes and something inside me melts like chocolate. He holds out his hand. I let my fingers intertwine with his. My breath hitches and I realize I’m still clutching the blanket with my other hand. He gives me a crooked smile on his crooked face and I feel weightless.

He grabs under my armpit and throws me off the fucking roof. Naturally, I start to yell and swear at him, but he’s talking to me in an even toned voice, laughing at me.

“Nick. Calm down. Calm down! NICK.” he’s caught between yelling at me and laughing. He puts his hand on me and I realize that I’m still in the air. He did something that’s making me float.

I glare at him. It doesn’t look very intimidating because I’m upside down and he’s cracking up in his stupid crooked face.

“I can control gravity.” he says, like I could’ve guessed that before he fucking launched me off the building. “Thought you should know.”

“Cool. Control me down, please.” I say, hoping it’ll sting.

“Ouch. Ok then.” he flips me over and sets me down, touching me on my forehead lightly with his thumb. My feet have weight on them again.

I stare at the blanket on the ground. He could’ve floated down. He wasn’t committing suicide. We don’t really have that much in common, then.

“Hey. _Hey._ It was just a joke, ok? Why don’t we-” he grabs my chin and turns my head to look him in the eye. He sounds sorry. I don’t feel the warm feeling anymore. I pull away.

“Maybe you should go, Sebastian.” I say, staring at the ground exactly how he stared at his cast when Karen flirted with him. He stays silent. I don’t think he knows why I’m rejecting him. I don’t think I know why I’m rejecting him. All I know is that I feel embarrassed and guilty and a little angry, and I don’t want him here anymore. I head back inside without another word.


End file.
